Retrofuturism
by A Sharper Ship
Summary: On February 10, 2534, the UNSC Spirit of Fire was declared "lost with all hands" as its lack of a slipspace drive forced it and its remaining crew to be stranded in space. Decades later, the Spirit of Fire reawakens to find Earth. Although this was not the Earth it remembers.
1. To Better Days

_Ret·ro·fu·tur·ism_

_/retrōˈfyo͞oCHəˌrizm/_

_The use of a style or aesthetic considered futuristic in an earlier era._

_**Chapter One**_

_To Better Days_

**Tuesday, November 07, 2558 – UNSC Standard Calendar**

_**Deep in uncharted space**_

**UNSC **_**Spirit of Fire**_

**0407 Hours ****– Greenwich Mean Time**

In the infinite black void, illuminated only by the shine of the numerous specks of light emanating from the remnants of creation's birth, drifts a colossal titan of metal. Far beyond the reaches of its ilk, it surmounted impossibilities—from a genocidal, conglomerate empire of extraterrestrials to an ancient, eldritch abomination that plagued the galaxy eons ago.

On one side of this fortress of steel, the insignia of an eagle is engraved, bearing the emblem of its allegiance. Its arrayed layers, connected together as if it was sewn cloth, made all the grandest castles of the antecedent eras pale in comparison, while simultaneously turning their most skilled makers, craftsmen, and artisans green with envy. The behemoth's angular edges would be considered by many to be unsightly and unaesthetically pleasing—downright abhorrent. Large antennas of varying lengths protruded from it without pattern or rhythm. The spaces between the ship were evidently unsymmetrical and uneven. Its greyish sheen can be considered by some to be unappealing and perturbing. However, a single glance from even the most vacuous could even tell you that this heap of metal was fabricated for an obvious purpose and perhaps that one purpose only; war.

Military engineers will be susceptible to childish glee upon careful examination of it. Its design is illustrated through its simple sublimity.

In the crudest sense, it is essentially a gun coated in meters upon meters of thick, impenetrable armour, but the most scrutinous in their study of the hunk of metal can tell you that it is more sophisticated. Its sides contained openings for what seemed to be countless armaments, all pernicious in their nature. Dozens of turrets, remaining dormant until battle comes, littered every inch of space found on it. Great, steel doors can also be observed near its underside, with their large size leaving one to wonder what they can possibly contain behind those metallic barriers.

The inscription of _Spirit of Fire_, emblazoned on both sides of the titan and emboldened in white, portrays this herculean giant as less of the strongholds of old and more of a ship. A ship that spanned two-and-a-half kilometers in length and almost a kilometer in width, with its height just being a fifth shorter than its width. Inside of it housed thousands of frozen souls in an induced sleep—only the tranquil, metallic humming of the ship was the indicator of its status as still being operational. Some lights flickered in illumination within the abyss of the ship to show that signs of life still inhabit the desolate place.

In the darkness of the ship, a serene voice was heard.

"_Captain, wake up. Something has happened._"

And as if it was a theatrical act, the mythological titan responded to the call and immediately awoke from its frigid, decades long slumber.

* * *

**UNSC **_**Spirit of Fire**_

_Observation Deck_

**0531 Hours ****– GMT**

"I'll need to go down there. Immediately, of course."

Captain James Cutter continued his stride towards the room. He was a man of character that imposed an air of calculating brilliance, which was expected of the ship captain. Strategies and tactics were their ultimate weapon against an enemy that had all the advantages. Cutter maintained an aura that was suggestive of a man that was tested by innumerable battles. His breathing was synchronized with each of his steps. His eyes presented his shrewdness. He always remained alert of his surroundings—always ready to act should the situation present itself. Although his posture was carefree, the wary and concerned look on his face told a much different story.

When he awoke from his cryosleep and heard about how one of those "things" got on board his ship, he was worried that SPARTAN-092 was not able to fully suppress the localized outbreak. Thankfully, that was not the case.

The observatory was located at the nose of the ship, only at the bottom. It required a five-minute elevator ride from the Command Bridge to get there even though both areas were on the opposite sides of the ship. A true testament to human ingenuity regarding engineering. It was a small room that was pentagonal in shape, with pillars of Titanium-A armor-plating acting as supports in each of the five vertices and enclosed with countless layers of reinforced glass. The holotables and holotanks found there enveloped the room with their subtle bluish hue. The holograms they pictured depicted various star charts, planetary bodies, planetary motion and orbits, and a plethora of all other information—all of which were cross-referenced with each other to solve the enigmatic puzzle they stumbled across.

"Good morning to you too, Professor." Captain Cutter cheekily addressed the other resident of the observatory.

Professor Ellen Anders, realizing her mistake, looked up from her work and followed up with an apology, "I'm sorry Captain. It's good to see you too," Professor Anders continued while parading around the deck, "but just look at it."

She gestured to the glass flooring. Although Cutter was still dumbstruck as to why the professor chose his observation deck for her lab's location, he realized the serendipity of it.

The view greeted them with a planet that was obscured by great, dusty clouds hovering in its atmosphere. Even from orbit, a casual observer can remark that a great devastation occurred there. Though it was different from what they have experienced from the war with the Covenant with how their planets were bombarded by plasma to be reduced to molten glass.

To the Covenant, a group of alien races that deemed their species' existence heretical, it did not matter whether a human world was a thriving, metropolitan, garden world or a barren, desolate landscape. What mattered was that they were there, and their existence was an affront to their divine gods. And by extension, so were their homes.

"What is it and where are we?" the captain of the _Spirit of Fire_ implored his most prominent researcher.

Although he was inquisitive about the planet's nature, Cutter already felt that he knew the answers to those two questions, but he stored those deep within the annals of his mind, as he did not want to entertain even an inkling of that hypothesis.

The planet was reminiscent of something many were familiar with, especially to a captain of the UNSC Navy like him, as virtually every UEG citizen learned about it. Its oceans and landmasses were familiar to the bare eye and the multitude of scans performed by the ship cemented his fears.

It was _Earth_.

It was the cradle of humanity—the homeworld of their interstellar civilization.

But it was _not_ the Earth he was familiar with. Nor was it the Earth that everyone aboard the refitted colony ship familiar with.

But yet, the impossibility of it taunted all of them.

"It's Earth," Anders affirmed, "but that's not even the weirdest thing about it." This seemed to intrigue Captain Cutter as he instantly snapped out of his pensive pondering.

"Oh? Care to enlighten me then, Professor?"

Professor Anders went over to a holotable and modified it to show findings gathered from the faux Earth. "The ship's photosensors found something really interesting once everything was operational." She took a moment to sort out the scans pertaining to the matter, "It seems that this Earth has high levels of radioactivity. It was as if a nuclear holocaust broke out in the decades we were gone."

This did not seem to surprise Cutter. "Yes, that was reported to me by the technicians on the Bridge." He turned to look down back at the planet, "What puzzled them was that when they examined the craters left by the supposed nuclear ordnance, they found the explosive yield to be too low to have been caused by our own. It would seem like that the nuclear devices launched were from the early days of the Atomic Age."

Professor Anders let that piece of information digest in her mind before continuing, "Of course, Captain. Curious that you bring that up considering we also can't establish contact with the UNSC on what is supposed to be one of our most militarized worlds against the Covenant."

That was one of the other gripes Captain Cutter had with the Earth they orbited. Upon reaching the planet, they sent a broadcast out to all possible military frequencies in search for UNSC presence.

What they were met with, however, was radio silence. No one responded—not even HIGHCOM or Earth's home fleet. Even though their ship was outdated and may not be communicating in the proper frequencies, it would be impossible to still not notice them as they drifted towards Earth. Additionally, they found no ODPs orbiting this Earth—the only thing that went around it were, curiously enough, primitive satellites that were dilapidated. The sight of those satellites reminded him that he needed to send an investigation team to figure out why they were there.

There were also no signs of human colonization anywhere else in the Sol System replica they found themselves in. The other planets, their moons, and Luna were all barren and devoid of life. It was as if the UNSC or the UEG never existed at all.

"And that's not all."

"Go on." Cutter waited for what else she had to say about the situation.

"The dosage of radioactivity also seemed higher in the earlier years."

The _Spirit of Fire_'s captain did not get the implication behind the professor's words. Upon seeing the confused look that marred his face, she elaborated, "You know how radioactivity undergoes decay? Well, the other researchers and I used that same exact principle to calculate the exact date Earth was bombarded back to hunter-gatherer societies. If you thought what we're seeing now is bad, then it was many orders of magnitude worse many years prior."

Professor Anders then hesitated, "But the thing is..."

The look on Anders' face made Captain Cutter unnerved. He braced himself for whatever she may say.

"For the calculated initial levels to be that high, nuclear Armageddon must have occurred two centuries before!" She manipulated the holograms displayed to show him the exact Gray value this Earth has been dowsed in. It was an absurdly great number.

It was only then that Captain Cutter responded in disbelief. "That couldn't possibly happen. Surely, there must be something wrong. Something we overlooked." If what Professor Anders said was correct, then there should not be a substantial amount of radiation still found on the planet. It would have dissipated in a couple decades.

"Negative, Captain," the professor shook her head before pulling up a different set of images to display from the holotable, "we did calculations with this Earth's orbit along with the nearby planets and this Earth seems to be in the year 2282."

Captain Cutter's body tightened.

"So, what you're saying is that we time travelled?"

His comment made her lose her train of thought. Their predicament was getting more nonsensical the more they discussed it. Nonetheless, she regained her composure, "I don't think so, Captain. Ignoring the fact that we'll be all awoken by the great energy surge in that undertaking, this doesn't represent our Earth in the twenty-third century."

The captain of the battered and worn ship became pensive, with the professor soon following his example. While it was true that this apocalypse did not occur in their version of history, it did not explain why the solar system they were on matched the Sol System of the UEG. All the planets in this system were even labelled and recognized as planets of the UEG.

_Perhaps we travelled to an alternate universe while were in cryosleep and Serina just failed to detect it? No, that's too farfetched._ The solutions Anders offered were equally as absurd as the existence of the Earth facsimile.

Cutter, however, thought about the ancient Forerunners and their technological capabilities and wondered if they had a hand in the creation of the replica. _For an advanced civilization that could build megastructures that can house their own artificial sun, it would not be too far out of their reach to design a mirror copy of our homeworld. _But he still could not offer a solution as to why they would go the lengths to do that.

The observatory was silent, save for the beeping of the machines and the continuous humming of the ventilation systems, as its two denizens tried to figure out the most reasonable way to approach the problem they were facing. If only Serina was still in the _Spirit of Fire_, maybe she could unravel the mystery.

It seemed that several eternities passed before Captain Cutter spoke up.

"We need boots on the ground to better assess this situation. A few hours earlier, we've detected a curious number of signs regarding human life in the URNA nation-state, but what technicians are most interested in is the Nevada area. There seems to be less signs of radioactivity in there than other areas, and imaging from orbit seems to confirm this as it's relatively unharmed compared to other territories."

The captain then nodded to Professor Anders before folding his hands behind his back and walking towards the elevator shaft to depart for the Command Bridge. The _Spirit of Fire_ took many casualties from the Covenant onslaught and had its effective crew size cut down to about fifty percent, which is about 5,500 troops. It was also fortunate that the support ship managed to hold on to its arsenal of vehicles, as Captain Cutter knew that having a vehicle complement is the key to turning tides in battles.

The captain also thought it would be wise to remain cautious when deploying troops to this new Earth. He knew nothing about how the locals may react towards the UNSC, so it would be best if they made contact with only a few people first. He would also need to remain inconspicuous when they did so as to not attract too much attention to themselves.

"Yes, Captain," Professor Anders acknowledged his decision before going back to the array of holotables to study the Earth they found in more depth, "don't forget to bring Geiger counters!"

Captain Cutter responded with a short chuckle before the elevator shut its doors and sent him off to direct the _Spirit of Fire_'s forces.

That type of technology was prehistoric by their standards.

* * *

**Friday, May 12, 2282**

**The Tops Casino, New Vegas**

**9:52 AM ******– **Pacific Daylight Time**

"Would you like some more scotch, Mr. Pratt?"

Tobias Pratt raised his head from the hard counter and groggily looked up at the well-kept bartender. The bartender that inquired about any more of his requests wore a mask of stoicism that made it hard to discern what he was thinking. His lips were pursed and his slanted eyes didn't give him any other emotion aside from disinterest. His stylish, brown, formal wear accentuated his professionalism, as not a single stain was present for such a menial job as handling liquor.

Behind the bartender, an assortment of all kinds of alcoholic beverages whose names he could scarcely recognize were presented. He had a gut feeling that his meager sum of caps would not be able to afford their exorbitant prices, so he decided to stick with the cheap stuff if he wanted to retain them.

Not that he minded. His days in the wasteland made him accepting of what ever beer he can take.

Even in the early hours of the day, numerous patrons already crowded inside the building, which made him a tiny bit claustrophobic, so he retreated in the bar in hopes of finding a sanctuary that will help him ease his mind.

Big mistake.

"Yeah, of course."

Was what he thought he replied with. He was unsure of whether or not he actually uttered those words with that much clarity or if his drunken stupor slurred his words into an incomprehensible mess. He doesn't really give it much thought as the bartender seemed to understand the sentiment behind his words and poured him a new shot.

The centuries old scotch still managed to give him a buzz. He commended the oldies from before the Great War as they surely knew how to build their stuff with how everything he seemed to find in the Mojave Wasteland from the pre-war era still seemed to work—the Big MT being case and point. He actually still can't believe he left that place without his heart. Though he didn't mind too terribly, as he knew he can just go back there to fetch it again.

"You know, drinking alcohol this early in the morning, before noon, is bad for your health."

Tobias took a hold of the shot glass before downing down the brown liquid in one swift motion. The way it travelled down his throat refreshed him, so he gestured for the bartender to give him more; which he obeyed without a question. He doesn't get paid to question someone's poor decisions, unlike the man standing right behind him.

The semi-intoxicated courier sat up straight, turned around, and then glared at the offender—a smartass draped in a lab coat standing behind him a few feet away with his arms crossed. His face betrayed a look of disappointment more than a look of worry.

He locked eyes with the man, his reflection visible in the physician's clean glasses, before giving him his well-crafted reply:

"Fuck off, Arcade."

Arcade Gannon's emerald eyes dueled with Pratt's deep, azure blue. After a few moments of tense, palpable, silence, the older man sighed and pulled up to a bar stool next to him. Tobias found it hard to stop himself from breaking into a smirk.

"Uhh… do you guys have coffee around here?" Arcade questioned the bartender, who was preoccupied with dutifully cleaning the marble countertop.

It was at this moment that Tobias Pratt used all his willpower not to bang his head on the counter. He didn't need anymore headaches. It's been seven months since the Second Battle of Hoover Dam and problems with his newly-christened independent New Vegas is already depriving him of his much-needed beauty sleep.

He's been wandering the desert for years. What he needs is a bed softened by feathers. He's tired of using rocks for pillows and grimy, musty, clothes as blankets. _At least I don't have to wake up in the middle of the night with a coyote going at it with my boot. Or worse._ Tobias involuntarily shuddered at the recollection of a few unwanted memories.

The bartender looked at the blond doctor quizzically before responding, "Sir, this is a bar. However, if you want me to, I can can go check our storage unit if we have some available." Part of Tobias wondered if the bartender was being serious or not. _How will that even work? Are they just going to make up the price on the spot?_

Gannon let out a forced laugh. "Oh, it's fine. A glass of water will do."

_You idiot._ That was the only thought that came to Tobias regarding Arcade's shocking display of stupidity. For a man who was raised under the Enclave, understand the machinations of the scientists behind the Big MT, and one of the foremost physicians of the Followers, he sure likes to play the part of the idiot sometimes.

"I know what you're thinking," Arcade, the telepath, said to him, "but I don't drink alcohol. Knew a lot of people who had their lives destroyed by it. Remember Bill Ronte?"

Tobias resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Yeah, yeah." The mention of the former alcoholic made Tobias turn to his old companion, "Wait, what are you even doing in here? Shouldn't you be helping out Farkas with the Freeside residents?"

The doctor shrugged. "It's a slow day. Besides, we mostly patched up everything in Freeside now. The only people left to help are the locals as most NCR squatters left already."

The courier narrowed his eyes. "So, you decided to come here to the Tops to do what exactly? Gamble? Play some slots? Didn't know the good doctor had it in him to lose his money." Tobias then looked at him from top to bottom. "Is that why you're still wearing your lab coat? You went straight from that fort to here?"

Arcade indignantly snorted at Tobias' latter comment. "Have you seen some people that manage to get into the Strip? My style is miles ahead of theirs if we're doing a comparison based on attire."

It was Tobias' turn to snort in an unrefined manner. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, doc. You smell like cough syrup."

Arcade briefly chuckled before his expression turned grave.

"Just for the record, I'm here because I'm honestly worried your health may deteriorate. You're drinking every day for hours at a time—day and night. You're clearly stressed out. Sure, I understand that New Vegas is in deep excrement, but the savior of the Mojave Wasteland can't just die from liver failure. Aside from shamefully having to put that part in history textbooks, your death is going to undo everything we worked hard to painstakingly build."

Tobias was taken aback by this, but the doctor nonchalantly continued his tirade.

Arcade tried to assuage Tobias' worries, "I know the NCR is breathing down our necks after we 'convinced' them to leave New Vegas alone, but the east is mostly secure with how Caesar's Legion has no leadership to rally around to."

While it was true that the NCR's "finest" General Lee Oliver has been raving mad about how their republic needs to take back New Vegas after their humiliation at their hands, the NCR's bureaucratic nature has been bogging down their war mobilization efforts to a grinding halt. Though there were reports that cries for war might resurgence with how the new NCR president is some bloodthirsty warmonger supported by an equally warmongering NCR Congress. The same couldn't be said for the Legion however. Those tribal slavers descended into a civil war as soon as he killed their Legate in combat. _Sucks for them._

Tobias told Arcade, "It's less of an invasion I'm worried about and more of what's happening around New Vegas. The NVFA severely lacks manpower, is underequipped, and poorly trained—making our citizens vulnerable to raiders because they now think this city is ripe for the picking. Especially the ones living near the north." He then gestured for the bartender for more shots, who came back with Arcade's glass of water.

"That took horribly long for a single glass of water," joked Arcade. The bartender, however, didn't think too highly of his comedic genius, ignored his comment, and left again for Tobias' scotch.

"But in all seriousness, the _president_ and commander-in-chief can surely handle a bunch of brigands plundering the hard-working citizens of the independent state of New Vegas, right?" winked the doctor. Tobias shuddered at the thought of a drunk Arcade Gannon if he already acted this annoying while sober.

Though he was only a provisional president before actual elections can take place in New Vegas, it has become an inside joke among his companions of his status as president.

Veronica, right before she left to fully dedicate herself in working with the Followers of the Apocalypse, always made it her sworn duty to address him as "President Pratt" and salute him every time they met each other. Though it was funny the first few times, she quickly overused it.

Boone wasn't much different. But the way he said _president_ was carried out in a blatantly sarcastic manner. He joked about his status, or so Tobias liked to believe, and made a lot of comparisons with Kimball. He hasn't seen him much since he moved back to Novac to train the militia there in case of an NCR attack. Tobias still doesn't know if Boone would be fine raising up arms against his previous country. It's his old country too, but Boone was in their armed forces so that may not bode well for him, and he doesn't want to feel like he's forcing him to do it.

Raul and Cass were one of the worst ones though. The former stopped calling him boss and just called him president all the time now. Hell, he even liked to introduce himself as the "President's Handyman" to every man and woman he ran across to in New Vegas, much to his dismay. He even started wearing sunglasses and a suit because it was like that before the Great War. Cassidy, however, joked that he should have made himself king or emperor or something so he could have done as much shit as he wanted. Although it was obvious that Cass was just playing to his ego, he wouldn't lie and say he didn't give it any thought. He did think about that, but Arcade told him a democratic state was the best way to go begin a new sovereign nation. Though one just needs to look at how corrupt the current state of the NCR is to question the validity of that assertion.

Lily, along with ED-E and Rex, were the exception. The nightkin didn't understand what the fuss was all about and didn't care much at all, but she always made sure to try and make him happy. She even tried to bake him cookies once when he was burned out from all the paperwork he had to do, which resulted in a fiery explosion that cost him thousands of caps to repair. Pre-war tech isn't exactly cheap to repair, you know? Even with all that, however, Tobias still liked her company and sometimes wondered what she's doing back in Jacobstown.

_Probably back to tending her bighorners._ He smiled at the thought.

"Haha," Tobias rolled his eyes, "You know I'm starting to wonder why I even wanted to be the president anyway."

"Is it because you're a narcissistic megalomaniac whose egotistical nature made you want to assume control and did it all under the guise of alleviating the crises New Vegas is facing?"

"Impressive bar-stool analysis there, Freud."

Arcade laughed. The bartender finally came back with his scotch. God was he parched for some hard booze right now.

Before he can down it however, the doctor turns towards Tobias. "To better days," Arcade raised his glass in the air, "for the future of a free New Vegas—free from its enemies, free from its problems, and free for all to decide their future."

The grin that took over the doctor's face was infectious and he found himself smiling soon enough. God does he love it when Arcade gets overdramatic.

He lifts his newly-filled shot glass in parallel to Arcade's much larger one to mirror his actions.

"To better days."

And with that, their glasses clinked.

* * *

_Author's Note_:

Constructive criticism is appreciated and encouraged. I don't own the Cover Image.


	2. First Contact

_**Chapter Two**_

_First Contact_

**Thursday, May 18, 2282**

**Mojave Wasteland**

**7:37 AM – Pacific Daylight Time**

The scorching sun beat on the vast desert expanse. Its flames merciless against the already barren landscape. The blazing celestial body, existing since antiquity, was apathetic towards the life that struggled to exist in the sandy tundra—the perennial star's heat was indiscriminate towards anything that it touched. It launched spears of light tens of millions of miles away that acted like needles when it fell from the heavens, pricking everything that was trapped under the confines of the ball of earth that was tethered to its harasser.

The skin of rocks caused blisters and a myriad of other skin blemishes to any being that dared touch it. Previous river paths dried out as the effects of nuclear war magnified the primordial god's rays of light. The sphere of light transformed the soft, course feeling of the beige sand into something reminiscent of feeling shards of glass.

Yet.

Signs of life overhung on the desolate stretch of land. The grass, although long withered from radiation's invisible poison, continued to fight for its survival even with the ball of fire suffocating it. From the howling of coyotes, the burrows of molerats, and the buzzing of bloatflies; life persisted. It did not matter if the intensive heat of their star rose in perpetuity. Life too was indifferent to the existence of the heavenly skies. What it was infatuated with was with itself.

Colonies of giant ants conflicted with packs of radscorpions. Molerats fought with coyotes for the conquest of trivial territories. Geckos skirmished with entire populations of radroaches. Nightstalkers hounded cazadors in fearsome battles.

_Man took up arms against their fellow man._

Such was the unforgiving reality of the Mojave. And this would be its continued one for as long as the sun rises with each dawn.

* * *

**27 kilometers northwest of New Vegas**

Tobias Pratt regarded the distressing accounts of a settlement marauded by raiders once more from one of the survivors.

The survivor being interviewed was an older man that was tall and lanky in his frame with a face that was marred by wrinkles and an expression that looked worn down by time. The man was about half a head shorter than him as his back slightly curled in a noticeable arch. His pale blue eyes held the implication of wisdom attained through old age and what was left of his greying hair bolstered this. The clothes he wore had splotches of dirt and grime from toiling the fields. His tanned skin was of a complexion that can be likened to mahogany, and his callused hands—attained from ploughing the solid earth for years—gave one an insight to the harsh life of a settler.

"In our settlement, there are about thirty to thirty-five people. Some people have homes here, but they sometimes live in different areas." He paused to see if the New Vegas President would interject, only continuing after the ephemeral silence passed. "The raiders that came here, about twelve, dragged us out of our homes in the afternoon and brought us to the center of the settlement," he nodded towards a direction from within the settlement, "we didn't have much time to defend ourselves, you see. Most of us are women and children; those with guns only ever fired on stray coyotes that came too close."

Tobias inwardly cursed himself. But he knew that their army was already stretched thin and cannot defend all communities.

Raiders were getting bolder and more frequent in their attacks on the settlements to capitalize on the disorganization of the NVFA. The army's tardiness could be partially blamed for the razed communities. But that was one of the problems of travelling by foot for communication—it took a damn long time.

Even if they still managed to arrive on time, Tobias was unsure if the NVFA can adequately defend their citizens. Although most of their enlisted came from the ghettos of Freeside, they were still untested when it came to an actual engagement. Most of the squads lacked effective leaders and he fears that if any of them were sent out, they will be systematically picked apart by the raiders. It also did not help that some were almost indistinguishable from the raiders with how trigger happy and undisciplined they were. His situation was made much worse, as the Securitron army Tobias had were too busy attending to more important matters like trying to prevent New Vegas from falling into anarchy. It's been months after he declared their independence and he still needs to concentrate virtually all of his forces there to stop anything bad from happening to the people of Vegas.

"They executed twelve of us and rounded up all our valuables."

The settlement of Brighthope was about as typical as it goes. It was neither too large nor too small. It had four pre-war houses that was renovated to try and remove as much evidence that a nuclear war occurred there. One of those houses had their roofs torn off but was repaired if the roof of scrap could be any indicator. The roads of the settlement were unpaved, dirt paths that showed signs of constant usage with how the roads had indentation to what Tobias assumed to be from the wheels of carts. Which surprised Tobias, as the lack of rain in the Mojave made the earth as hard as concrete, which means that the settlement must receive a lot of traffic. Most likely from traders passing by.

There seemed to be around six shanty houses; each of which looked like it could fit two to three people. However, most of them did not seem to have stable foundations and Tobias was anxious that a desert storm could leave someone homeless. Barrels, boxes, and crates were strewn everywhere, and Tobias could only wonder what their contents may be.

Both men were outside, leaning against the front wall of one of the pre-war houses to be covered from the heat of the sun. In front of them was the town center that was located slightly left of the settlers' homes; containing what seems to be a miniature, enclosed, garden—a rare decoration to find in the Mojave Wasteland.

"Well the problem with taking up all our valuables is that you'd be richer if you started picking up every single cap you find off the ground. Us brahmin herders don't make much—it's not for everyone."

Tobias looked around the settlement. The community acted like there were no raiders a few days prior and was already bustling with people already beginning their tedious tasks to make a livelihood—he thought about how the inhabitants of Brighthope lived up to their settlement's name.

It seemed to have a few livestock for grazing. They were contained in outside at the southeastern portion of the community where there seemed to be more space. He counted a few brahmins and even fewer bighorners enclosed in wooden fences with a few settlers tending to them. However, they all looked malnourished, as he could see the outline of a rib cage in some of the Brahmin. _I guess he isn't lying when he says being a herder isn't that much rewarding._

"This pissed off the raiders. Started throwing around like madmen; raving on and on about what a waste of time we were." He paused for dramatic effect. "It was at this time they started looking towards the women and girls."

Tobias closed his eyes. He always knew what happened to the women during raider attacks.

The settler then scratched his grey, stubby, beard.

"But the strangest thing happened."

Tobias snapped out of the intrusive thoughts that plagued his mind. He regarded the old settler with a curious gaze.

"Right before those bastards could do anything, a large boom sounded out and the next thing I knew, one of them had their brains blown out to high hell."

Now, Tobias was fully captivated by the man's story.

"This scared them shitless. They started panicking and taking cover. Even then, that didn't do much. They still dropped like bloatflies one by one."

The man then pointed at a direction towards one of the houses. Tobias looked to where the man was pointing and saw that a huge hole marred one of its aged walls. His eyes widened to size of plates at how large it was—from that distance, he could only make estimates on its size, but he was certain that it was larger than his fist.

"One of the bastards hid behind Hendrickson's house to hide from whoever was shooting them. Thought he was fine and dandy until a bullet pierced through and punctured his head." He morbidly chuckled. "Old Hendrickson took hours scraping off the brains from his floor. Didn't complain though."

Tobias squinted. He could recognize what seemed to be dried-out bloodstains as he peered in through the house's new window. He was surprised at how the bullet managed to make a hole that wide in diameter even though the wall was concrete. He deduced that whomever the shooter was, probably a sniper by the looks of it, had a rifle capable of firing large calibers. Not a lot of people could get their hands on both.

"The raiders wised up though. Started coming out of the hiding spots to take some people hostage. But what happens next is something I have trouble believing myself."

The courier fought hard to restrain himself to just tell the man to spit it out. He was starting to get exasperated.

"Out of nowhere, four men in black-grey armour appeared from the far end of Griffin's farm over there. The armour they wore looked straight out one of those science comic books my grandson always shows me. Hell, one of them even had a flying robot follow them around." He tried to help Tobias visualize what to robot looked like with his hands. The robot he seemed to describe was tiny, slim, and angular. "They all wore the same thing, but they had different colours. And don't even get me started on their guns," the old man shook his head, "one of them even had a missile launcher for crying out loud."

Tobias was dumbstruck at the firepower of Brighthope's saviours, but nevertheless, the old man continued.

"Even though the raiders outnumbered them, they just about shat their trousers at the sight. Some of them looked like they wanted to go back home to their ma's." The settler slapped his leg in mirth while Tobias let a snort escape him. "The four came to the center of the settlement. Even their walking was intimidating. They looked like they rehearsed it with how robotic it was."

The older man did not stop his story. "When they got there, they had a standoff with those poor bastards. They then said something to those shits, 'Lay down your weapons and surrender.' or something like that."

The President of New Vegas had a million thoughts race through his mind. _Armoured men that moved with calculated precision with what seem to be high-caliber weapons and an eyebot. They're obviously military, but whose? They don't seem like NCR Rangers. The settlers would immediately notice their armour, and if they were, what would they be doing helping New Vegas citizens? _

Another realization struck him. _Are they Brotherhood then? That can explain the technology, but what are they doing here out in the open? _He put a hand to his chin. _"What if they're Enclave? Could there be more of them out there?_

The settler failed to recognize how Tobias seemed to be in deep thought and continued.

"Well the raiders, either because of chems or because they're idiots, decided to raise their guns up towards the four men." The courier listened in intently. It sounded like they got into a fight and he wanted to assess their rescuers' capabilities. "That was a mistake because before they could even raise up their arms to shoot, they already started dropping faster than rain. They never missed too. Always hit directly in the head, even the hostages that were held by them were unharmed."

The older man paused before continuing his story. Tobias gave a silent groan.

He was tired of the incessant pauses.

"This is when it became a true shootout. They were all shooting at each other—the robot too! But the blind sods couldn't even hit them. Probably because they were too fast and smart for them to track with their Jetted mind." He laughed at his own joke. Tobias did too.

"The raiders were too occupied with the four that they paid us no mind. Not that we could have taken advantage of it, we were all scared shitless at the sight."

The settler then crossed his arms and looked down shamefully. Tobias did not judge him for his own perceived cowardliness. He understood that dying was a likely possibility in a firefight and that not everyone was prepared for it.

He put a hand on the man's shoulder. "It's alright. Do continue."

The older man broke out of his trance, "Well as I was saying," he cleared his throat, "one of the four got out of his cover from that wall over there and ran across to us—firing at the raiders while he did so. The colours of his armour were different than the other three, he had white and red as opposed to grey and yellow. He came up to us and asked if anyone was injured."

Tobias wondered if the man was a medic. White and red were still used by various organizations in the wasteland to denote medical aid after all.

"Thankfully, none of us were. It was also at this moment that the remaining raiders, upon realizing that they were knee deep in brahmin shit, dropped their guns and ran home back to a spanking from mama. Surprisingly, the four gave them no chase."

Tobias pressed on the opportunity to ask questions, "Then what? What happened after?" He stopped leaning against the concrete wall to assail the man with more questions. "Surely, they stuck around for a while."

Tobias' senior just gave a hearty chuckle, "Slow down there," he then moved to a better position to face him, "They then talked to us. Introduced themselves and asked us who we were, what place they were in, and who those people that attacked us were. I can't remember anything else other than though—I'm an old man." He then had an epiphany. "Oh, and they referred to themselves as the 'Youehnessee'."

"Youehnes-what?" Tobias clarified.

It was then at this moment that the previously shut window beside them flung open. What they were greeted with was a woman who seemed to be on the younger side. Her long, blonde, hair was disheveled, although they were signs that she tried to keep it tidy. The curiosity that failed to stay hidden behind her sea-like eyes betrayed her inquisitive nature.

She wore a faded red farm-hand's outfit that was unbuttoned in front of her neck as to allow her to breathe easier under the suffocating heat. Her skin tone was noticeable paler in comparison to her presumed grandfather, and her small, silk-like, hands that shimmered under the morning light made Tobias conclude that she may never have had to touch a farming implement her entire life.

"Sorry to interrupt, but what grandpa meant to say was that they called themselves the 'UNSC.' It's an acronym for 'United Nations Space Command' or something."

While the older man chastised the younger woman for eavesdropping and asked her where her manners were to brusquely interrupt their conversation like that, to which the woman gave a half-hearted apology, Tobias' thoughts nulled all his senses.

"_United Nations Space Command"? What the hell is that supposed to mean? The UN dissolved many years before the Great War and "Space"? What are they? Fucking astronauts?_

"Hey, mister!" The woman snapped her fingers twice and as if Tobias was a marionette, he responded to her string tugs. "Daydreaming like that won't do you no good. D'you want to know more?" The older man sighed, leaned back against the wall, and looked sternly away from them.

Tobias nodded and the woman rested her elbow against the windowsill with her palm supporting her chin. "Well after that gunfight ended, we heard something coming from the distance. We didn't know what sound it was, so we were worried, but the four assured us it was nothing to worry about." The older man seemed to confirm this.

"From the direction of the cliffs, we saw another one of them. But this one," she paused her story for dramatism, "came in a car. I swear by my mother's grave that it was a car." Tobias' eyes expanded to twice their size.

"It wasn't like one of those old cars you could see in the freeways. This one was bulkier, green, and big—prolly because it was military or something." The courier saw the older man nodding in agreement. "Then, the driver got out and joined the four. They told us they were on a recon mission to see what this new place was like and just happened to find the raiders doing what they're known for." The woman then bit her lip. "What was surprising though was that one of them, a Major, took off their helmet. I was surprised by what he was like. He seemed too pale and clean, I guess." The New Vegas president just raised an eyebrow in response. Almost everyone he met was tanned from their travels in the Mojave. "I think he said his name was Major Voger or something."

"Anything else?" Tobias inquired. Though the information regarding the military officer was vital in his investigation.

"No, that's all I've bothered to pay attention to. If you want to know more, I suggest you try asking some of the locals around. It's interesting that they weren't from your fancy 'New Vegas Federation Army' though. Wonder if they're telling the truth or not." She shook her head. "Aliens are just mind-boggling to me." The most senior of the group nodded in agreement.

Tobias thanked her and the old man before saying to them, "Thanks, but I've got people waiting for me. Don't want to make them wait too long. Maybe some other time?"

And with that, the hero of New Vegas departed the settlement to attend to other matters. However, before he left, he prayed that they would not get attacked again in the foreseeable future.

* * *

**37 kilometers west of New Vegas**

**1:11 PM – PDT**

Travelling outside the beaten path, or in the case of the courier and his companions, outside the bombarded highways, were always boring and dull affairs. It also took more considerable effort to traverse the uneven, sandy, desert terrain. It also didn't help them that the sun was particularly unforgiving that afternoon too.

The Mojave Desert was repetitive in its scenery. Tobias was certain that the rocks, tumbleweeds, dead trees, and even the clouds he saw were all the same. Even the ground felt the same, whatever that's supposed to mean. He was unsure if his joints were finally taking its toll on him after wandering the Mojave for nearly eight years now. Even so, he tried to appreciate the beautiful cliffs and colossal, rocky, spires that the desert held, but he found them to be lackluster—they lost their magic after looking like they were sculpted the same way as the few hundred others he saw earlier on in his travels. There truly was nothing new under the sun.

"So, what you're saying is that some guy wearing crusty, centuries, old football gear swinging around a machete he got by duct-taping a lawn mower blade to a stick can beat your no-bullshit, trigger-happy, merc? Did I mention that the merc has a fucking gun?"

Tobias sighed at hearing the disbelief in her voice. Cass was ready to pop like a stick of dynamite.

"Well, if you put it that way, of course not." Arcade pushed up his glasses before going on the defensive.

"But in most cases, the average Legionary soldier would be able to win against your run-of-the-mill mercenary nine times out of ten as the tactics of the Legion utilized some form of psychological warfare to intimidate their enemies." He smiled smugly. "This was one of the reasons why that the NCR had a hard time beating them back even with the apparent technological disparity between the two."

"Are you an actual dumbass or are you just pretending to be one?" Cass was practically fuming at Arcade's attempt at an academical analysis of their hypothetical engagement. She was ready to throw down in the middle of the desert.

Tobias stopped in his tracks and turned around behind him to call out to the two, "Are both of you allergic to shutting the hell up?" He saw both of his closest companions, Cass and Arcade, with faces twisted into frowns—the latter of the two staring at the desert horizon with crossed arms. "You two have been yammering my ears off for the past few hours now. Give me a damn break!"

That sentiment was shared by the eight NVFA soldiers he brought along—five men and three women—as some of their relieved sighs were apparent indicators. Tobias could see that they were either tired from their exhausting journey, tired from hearing the two idiots argue, or a combination of both. He, however, bet that it was a combination of both.

They were recruits of the Federation's Army and one of his military advisors thought it would be beneficial if he took some of them in his travels occasionally for some experience, to which he was in full agreement of.

The recruits that tagged along were outfitted with armour that was fashioned out of leather, and if you're lucky enough, steel, and it concealed mostly the vital areas of the body—their torso, their knees, their shoulders, and some parts of their arms as to make sure that they're not immediately out of the fight should they get hit there. They also had helmets fashioned from whatever they could make, so the helmet design between each individual soldier varied. Underneath the armour, they just wore light, long-sleeved clothing, of various designs and patterns. The NVFA didn't have a standard-issue uniform.

_As of now anyway._

The weapons they carried were service rifles that the NCR left in New Vegas after they left in a hurry. Most of them were in working condition and seeing that Tobias himself still used one of those same rifles—one that he got from a certain ranger in the previous NCR Mojave Outpost many months prior—he didn't raise any objections to issue them to every trooper.

NVFA soldiers were also issued 10mm pistols as their side arms. The reasoning behind that was that it was relatively easy to craft its munitions, do maintenance and repairs on it, and it packed a good punch for a pistol. All three were the reasons why the courier also carried one just in case.

Slung behind the men's backs were heavy, travel, backpacks that contained all sorts of necessities needed for their journey—food, purified water, stimpaks, extra munitions, spare parts, camping equipment, and luxuries if they could fit it. The food and water they brought would only last them a couple of days at best, though the courier isn't expecting them to take longer than two days' time; accounting for the trip there and the trip back, and any complications they should run across.

He also saw what seemed to be some chems. Although he used some himself, albeit during times when he was gravely injured and wanted immediate relief, he wasn't exactly a fan of the idea of New Vegas' defenders being a bunch of junkies. Nonetheless, he wasn't that adverse to their usage of it.

"Good God. I miss Veronica," complained the resident doctor, "she always had something interesting to share from her life back in the Brotherhood of Steel." Arcade started to smile at the recollection of an old friend. They were practically inseparable with how they talked about energy weapons, pre-war technology, and reclusive organizations that thought they were superior than the common wastelander.

Cass rolled her eyes so hard that it looked like they travelled to China. "I might just have to go back to California if I ever hear you too talking about the 'intricacies, implications, and consequences of releasing advanced technology to the general public.'"

She mocked Arcade in the most scathingly sarcastic manner. Tobias was sure he heard some of the recruits' snigger. They must have surely heard some of those conversations before.

Arcade took a deep breath in and gave out an equally deep sigh. He then took an even deeper breath before calling out to the courier who was ahead of the group, "Hey, Tobias! Do you mind if we stop for a bit? My feet are sore again and I don't want them blistered." This made Cass flail her arms in incredulity.

"You've got to be kidding me. We just stopped an hour and a half ago. If we stop again, we're never going to reach that settlement in time." Cass reminded Arcade of their objective. They were to go investigate rumours of captive settlers in a previous settlement now occupied by raiders.

Tobias just sighed and turned back towards them. He longed for the times where it was just him and ED-E. He still remembers the day where the eyebot—his first companion on his quest for answers—blinked into existence after he tinkered with it at the Nash Residence for hours.

He recalled how his body ached from standing arched for extended periods of time, and he still remembered the mucky feeling of the lubricants his hands were stained with. The way he perspired in that oven chamber was enough to quench the thirst of hundreds of pack brahmins. However, the electronic beeps Tobias heard after his companion started up made up for all the curses and obscenities he uttered that afternoon. He still had a mark on his hand, although faded, after he threw a wrench in frustration; only for it to ricochet back at him for a bite.

_Too bad Raul is still doing his checkups on that old rust bucket. I would have loved to bring him along._

ED-E underwent one of his monthly maintenance periods. He initially did it by himself, but he found Raul's handiwork to have been leagues ahead of his. Although he normally finished the check-up in a day, the upgrades the Followers outfitted his robot with extended that time to a week. Raul can manage to do that under a week, but he has been slacking off lately. _I better give him an earful when I get back. _

The soldiers he brought looked at the spectacle his two close companions put on with varying reactions. Some of them looked to be amused, while some had their faces painted with concern.

Arcade raised his hands in defense, "Hey, don't look at me. I don't travel well outside of the main roads. I'm a doctor, you know? I'm not meant to travel in these types of conditions." Arcade motioned his right arm towards an arbitrary direction in the Mojave Wasteland. Cass just tried to set him on fire with her glare, but the physician continued, "And plus," he wiped a drop of sweat off his brow, "it's getting awfully hot."

Now the former caravan owner was dumbfounded. She looked at Arcade, who is arguably the smartest man in the Mojave Wasteland—miles ahead of anyone in competitions regarding the mind, barring the late Robert House, as if he was some sort of tiny, pale, hairy, super mutant.

"You're wearing combat armour that weighs like thirty pounds in a mission that involves a long travel through the Mojave Desert." Whiskey Rose stared the younger doctor down as if he was a petulant child. "Are. You. A. Fucking. Idiot?" She punctuated each word to make the venom behind it more pronounced. Her paroxysm of controlled rage made Arcade flinch, albeit momentarily.

Tobias looked at Arcade's apparel. He was wearing what seemed to be reinforced combat armour—complete with the helmet, but with the visor removed as to not obscure his vision—and with him, he carried a plasma rifle, pristine in condition, beside his travel backpack and his old plasma defender and ripper at his sides. The backpack he carried seemed to be wider and bulkier in contrast to the rest of the group; looking like it weighed somewhere around the upper limits of thirty pounds.

But nonetheless, the doctor looked ready to take on an entire battalion of NCR soldiers.

Compared to the son of an Enclave officer, Cass was wearing leather armour with a piece of metal attached on her left shoulder for extra protection. Her armaments were the usual; her trusty caravan shotgun that showed signs of extended use from her days running the Cassidy Caravans and a 10mm pistol at her side. She also wore the same cowboy hat she had on when Tobias first met her drowning her sorrows away at the Outpost, with her pendant being concealed by her armour. Before they departed for their little adventure, Tobias caught a glimpse of what Cass packed—three bottles of whiskey, stimpaks, a sleeping bag, some food and water, and enough 20-gauge shotgun shells to shoot each person in New Vegas. Twice.

Although her gear was heavy, it was far lighter than what Arcade had—more combat efficient too as in Tobias' experience, ballistic weaponry was often more reliable than energy weapons.

As he observed what his companions brought, he gave an examination of his own items.

Tobias still wore a full set of one of the riot armours he lifted from one of the dead inhabitants of the hellhole that was known as the Divide. As he thought about his time there, he remembered the enigma that was Ulysses and how he wanted to bring back the cataclysm that ended the world years ago.

_That was the perhaps the craziest thing I've ever done in my entire life._ Thought the sixth courier. Aside from having to face tunnelers and avoid deathclaws, preventing the Mojave from being bathed by nuclear fire aged him by a considerable amount. He was sure that some of his chestnut hair became more ashen after that experience.

The courier's thoughts about his armour made him recall the time he wore Arcade's gift, the Gannon Family's Tesla armour, and brought a caravan train of assorted weapons, ranging from combat knives to fully-automatic assault rifles and missile launchers, to face the Monster of the East. If his exploits in the Divide aligned with what a Freeside junkie would tell someone, then his triumph over Caesar's most fearsome Legate would just be a terrible and awful joke—though Lanius certainly didn't pound him to the ground like a terrible and awful joke.

A swing from his oversized lump of metal sent Veronica, who was weighed down by forty-four pounds of her Brotherhood-branded power armor, soaring up in the air. Tobias also knew that power armor was impervious to all bullets, if they were of a low caliber, so seeing Veronica panting on the ground with a mighty gash across her torso just served as a demonstration of the Legate's inhuman strength.

Legate Lanius was a resilient bastard too. Boone emptied entire clips of .308 rounds at his helmeted visage to no avail and had to resort to using precious .50 MG bullets from his anti-materiel rifle just to dent him. ED-E, even with the weapons upgrade he was presented with, did no visible damage to the Legate as he thrashed about in an animalistic rage. His bloodlust was practically tangible with how he inhumanly roared in anger every time the courier fired a gun at Caesar's one-man-army.

_Good God that was finished. I almost thought I was going to die there with how he shrugged off all the things we threw at him._

Affixed to his arm, the gift of Doc Mitchell—the Pip-Boy 3000—remained. Although it was almost dilapidated with how it was shot at a few times, it proved to be one of its most versatile tools with how it can function as a portable computer, a Geiger counter, a storage list, and a medical report about himself. The antique technology also came with a map of the Nevada, its own targeting system (which he is forever grateful for), and could even receive radio signals, although he seldomly utilized that feature.

He for sure didn't want "Heartaches By The Number" to be blasting as he snuck up behind someone.

His service rifle was horizontally holstered behind him, and his 10mm was kept close at the side of his torso—concealed by his armour's worn-down trench coat. The backpack he brought along with him held nothing of considerable importance. It just contained three grenades, a pair of binoculars, a recently sharpened combat knife, four stimpaks, and additional ammunition for his service rifle and his pistol. The rest were food, water, and sleeping equipment.

The latter half was necessary in all travels. It was the first thing the Mojave Express taught him when he began working for them at nineteen.

Arcade's sputtering snapped Tobias out of his thoughts. The doctor stuttered in a hasty endeavour to prop up a defense, "Hey, you never know what happens when you're engaging the enemy." He crossed his arms in what Tobias thinks to be an attempt to build up false confidence. "It's better if you do your best to prepare for combat as you can never anticipate what your enemy may pull. Better to bring in heavy weaponry than to be vulture food."

Cass snorted at Arcade's explanation. "I already know what's going to happen when we come across those raider fucks." She put out her index finger near her face and made a horizontal motion across her throat. "You're going to be shot up the asshole. Though I won't terribly mind if that happens. Maybe you can finally get your head out your ass if you do."

Tobias tried to deescalate the situation.

"Alright, alright. Everyone stop this childish bullshit. We can rest at that clearing over there for a while." He gestured to an area that had signs of previous habitation. The redhead glowered at him, to which the courier rolled his eyes to, "We have lots of time. And besides, the settlement can't suddenly pick itself up to start moving."

Before Cass can respond in a sarcastic manner, Arcade raised his voice," Aye, aye, captain!" He looked at Cass with a victorious smirk, "That seems like a wonderful and well-calculated plan!" The ragtag team of soldiers that came along were indifferent to what ever they decided to do.

Tobias just sighed and gestured everyone to follow him.

He swore to whatever god out there that was listening that he may just have to shoot himself, or the two, before this adventure of theirs ends.

* * *

**40 kilometers west of New Vegas**

**1:57 PM (Pacific Daylight Time)**

The clearing they decided to set up camp for a while was littered with tin cans everywhere—the ground, the tables, and even the campfire pot. Tobias dropped his backpack on a green, wooden, table with the others, but not before clearing it out for any more of those pieces of scrap metal that was strewn there. The sun's concentrated heat made him eager for water, so he opened his backpack to pull out a sandwich and two of the sixteen water bottles he had. He then sat on a log near the extinguished camp fire to ponder what kind of inhuman being could eat that much prehistoric, tasteless, canned food.

Arcade and Cass's explosive arguments seemed to fizzle down as they started occupying themselves with more productive things to do—Arcade was sitting on a log opposite of him without his boots on to massage his sore feet, while Cass cleaned her shotgun from any dust it may have accumulated from the trip.

The NVFA troops were scattered everywhere like the tins cans as they were free to do whatever they wanted. Some were having an extended lunch break while talking about their life back in New Vegas, one was reading a book, two were discussing about their preference for certain weapons, and one was silently humming to himself a tune, one that Tobias failed to recognize, while pointing his gun's barrel towards the rocky ground as he absentmindedly used its stock as a headrest.

"You know, using your gun like that is damaging, right?" Tobias quipped after he finished gnawing on a piece of his brahmin steak sandwich. The recruit was the closest to him, sitting at a far end of a log that Tobias was nearest to—separated by only a few feet, so he managed to say those words without yelling at him. Both of their logs formed something like a forty-five-degree angle with each of their ends, so it was as if both men sat with each other.

The humming man almost fell upon hearing the courier's voice. "It may dent the barrel," said Tobias between munches, "and after that, you wouldn't be shooting straight." He took a big gulp of water to force down what he just ate down his throat. "Dirt and other grime may get in too, so unless you want it to jam, I suggest you start cleaning it up."

The soldier was quick to apologize. "Sorry about that, sir. I promise it won't happen again." His response made Tobias chuckle. "Not a problem. Drop the 'sir' too, will you?" Tobias wasn't a fan of unnecessary formalities—he just saw himself as the son of a single mother back in California that eventually found a job running mail.

"Say, what's your name again?" The courier inwardly cursed himself for already forgetting most of his soldiers' names. He was truly deserving of the office of the President of the Independent State of New Vegas.

"Uhhh… Jul—. Julian. Julian Pendle." He stuttered with a quavering voice. The recruit in question had almost the same hair as him: medium-length, brown, hair that somehow managed to be both disorderly and tidy in a simultaneous fashion. His skin was darkened in a way that indicated his natural skin tone is paler. His verdant eyes reflected whatever uneasiness he was feeling right now.

Tobias nodded. As he regarded the man in a closer examination, he couldn't help but realize how young he seemed in comparison to the other soldiers that came along. "Say, how old are you?"

The younger man pondered for a moment. "Nineteen. I turn twenty in August."

The courier mouthed his surprise. He was twenty-seven himself—younger than most of his companions. For someone to be that young suggested only one thing:

"Is this your first time going out in the wasteland?"

He immediately realized how his question can be misconstrued with idiotic implications when Julian tilted his head at an angle. "I mean, have you ever gone out on a trip like this. You know, like hunting raiders?"

"No, I haven't done something like this my entire life." He paused before adding on to his experiences, "But I have travelled long distances like this before." _Like almost everyone._ Tobias thought, but didn't bother to voice out. "My family came here from California." He then set down his sandwich as to digest both the delicious meat and what Julian just told him.

_If this is his first time going out, does that mean he may have never shot something? Let alone kill someone?_

This did not sit well with Tobias. Although he affectionately called the NVFA soldiers he brought with them "recruits with no combat experience," what he meant to say was that they were untested against a proper military force like the NCR or the Legion. He knew that they've killed before, or at the very least, shot a gun, as they all knew how to handle their weapons.

Julian, on the other hand, looked like he only ever held a gun to whack someone on the head with it. Which worried Tobias as he could be a liability in a firefight.

He tried to think about other matters. "Say, if you're from California, what are you doing here in New Vegas?" He picked up his sandwich again before continuing, "Not a lot of them decided to stay here after I basically said we were our own sovereign nation now."

While it was a stretch to say that most left, it was mostly the NCR soldiers and their cronies that did. Those who immigrated from California and have lived in Nevada for years chose to not move places.

Julian had his eyes look up at the blue sky for a few seconds as if he was looking for whatever answer the clouds can give him. "My family moved to the Mojave many years ago. I was eight when that happened," the courier's hypothesis proved to be spot on, "so I consider New Vegas more of my home than California—apparently, so did my ma, pa, and little sisters."

Tobias finished what was left of his sandwich. He then continued to prod around with questions regarding the nineteen-year-old, Californian immigrant's life. "Any reasons why you joined the NVFA?"

Julian rest his rifle on his lap before giving a quick shrug. "I wanted to make a difference by fighting for the place that raised me." He paused as Tobias inched closer to him. "I guess I also needed the caps for my family."

Before Tobias could assure him that enlisting to provide a living for his family isn't something to be ashamed of, he was interrupted by the unexpected intrusion of Arcade.

The Followers physician walked up towards Tobias with a grin and sat down on the same log, although a few feet away from him. "Did you know how refreshing it is to finally walk around with non-sore feet?" He posed a rhetorical question towards Tobias. "Well, let me spoil it for you. It's pretty damn refreshing!"

Arcade then took notice of the additional person listening in to him. He arched his left brown at Julian, "And who might this fellow be?"

It was at this precise moment that Tobias was interrupted again as the NVFA soldier introduced himself before he even had a chance to open his mouth. "Julian Pendle, sir. And you must be mister?"

Arcade stiffened when he was addressed as "sir," though he rapidly recovered. "My name is Arcade Gannon. Arcade, with a 'c' and not a 'k' when you spell it." He then looked at Tobias. "But where I come from, we speak a different tongue. So, to properly say it, you say 'Doctor,' so my name is 'Doctor Gannon'."

The courier groaned. He wished that "Doctor Gannon" was closer so he could give him a good elbowing. However, both the soldier and doctor laughed at the joke.

"I'm glad you appreciate the joke," was what Arcade managed to sneak in between his chuckles, "though I'd appreciate it if you drop the 'sir'. Feels too weird just to be called it."

Julian looked up at Arcade and agreed, "Of course, Doctor Gannon." Arcade dissolved into bursts of chuckles again.

As Tobias wondered if Arcade should be prescribed with depressants, Cass walked up to them—seemingly lured in by the doctor's joy. "What's so funny?" She approached Arcade and motioned for him to move closer to Tobias, to which he obliged without an objection, as she sat down. The fiery bar-brawler then noticed Julian, to whom the courier started to wonder as to why he always turned on a Stealth Boy whenever his friends were around as he was often undetected. "Who are you?"

"Julian." Tobias appreciated how he got decreasingly verbose.

"Pleasure to meet you." Cass deadpanned in an ambiguous manner—both Tobias and Arcade didn't know if she was being sarcastic or not. However, the suddenly popular soldier responded positively, "Likewise."

Before Cass could say something back to him, Arcade abruptly decided he didn't want to end his interruption streak and covertly changed the subject, "So, rumour has it that the NCR has been paying these low lives to instigate raids," he gauged the reaction of his audience, "any of you believe it?"

Cass was the first to respond to the theory. "Probably not," she shook her head, "NCR's low, but they won't dig a hole to put themselves lower. If word got out about it, whoever had the bright idea to attack defenseless people will probably find themselves in a position where they can experience what that's like first hand." She crossed her arms. "NCR citizens like to sympathize with people who lead similar lives to theirs—the non-shithead ones anyway."

Similarly, Julian also expressed his scepticism about the theory.

Tobias entertained a thought after seeing what was displayed. _Interesting how Californian-born folks are staunch supporters of how moral their old country is._ He mentally snickered. _Though I'd be lying if I, a man from California, believed otherwise._

Arcade, however, seemed to be the black sheep of the four. "Maybe," he took a moment to push up his glasses, "but I wouldn't count on it being factual. A lot of the higher-ups in the NCR invested a lot in New Vegas, so us booting them out probably didn't sit well with some of them."

Each person seemed to agree with the doctor's sentiment. Arcade continued his insights, "And plus, it wouldn't be the first time the NCR hired some people to attack harmless communities."

Although confusion presented itself to Julian's face, Tobias and Cass understood what was meant with perfect clarity. They both recalled that time they met a group of mercenaries under the NCR's employ that constantly harassed Jacobstown. While Cass was ready to get into a shootout, Tobias aimed to resolve the situation diplomatically—to which he succeeded after he bluffed that he would be able to take them on.

Following a dull period of silence, Tobias spoke up, "So," he paused his thought to stand up halfway and sit down back again as to get a better position in his seat, "what do you guys think about this 'UNSC' we've heard?"

At the mention of that name, two things simultaneously occurred:

Cass and Arcade both rolled their eyes in perfect synchronization, with Arcade taking it to the next level and groaning audibly.

They didn't believe him when he initially recounted the story to them until they went back to the same settlement and asked around—even hearing a repeat of the old man's testimony. And when they finished it, however, they still didn't believe in such childish balderdash.

The second event that ensued was the reappearance of perplexity that shrouded Julian's being. As Tobias saw his new companion's bemused face, he remembered that the young soldier wasn't in the loop with their current investigation.

The courier tried to enlighten Julian on the current matter. "You heard about raiders attacking settlements, right? Well, one of them was saved." That piece of trivia seemed to pique Julian's interest. "However," the soldier curved one of his eyebrows, "their saviors were apparently from a group called the UNSC, or as they told us, the 'United Nations Space Command'."

Julian, for the third time within half an hour, was nonplussed by what his president just bombarded him with. There were so many implications with a name like that that he didn't know where to begin.

"_Huh?"_

Arcade then captured the other three's attention, "Okay, okay, let's think about this for a second," he told the three as he made a "T" symbol with his hands, "why in the world would a "Space Command" even exist? Do you even know how much precious resource it'll take to fund that kind of undertaking?" He used his arms to goad the others into following his line of thinking. "The energy requirements to get a rocket outside of the stratosphere takes a considerable amount—so much so that it'll be visible on the radar of most major factions not just in Nevada, but the entire continental US!"

He continued. "And why would they suddenly appear just now? It's possible if they're another clandestine, high-tech organization that wants to stay under wraps," He paused to take a deep breath, "But the thing is, why go to that effort into hiding your group if you're going to expose yourselves to save a few people? Why ruin careful planning to do something sloppy like that?" He huffed and crossed his arms, "I'm calling baloney on the whole 'United Nations' thing too. Either they're from a time before the UN dissolved, which might explain the weapons technology, or they're just something else."

Tobias carefully replayed what Arcade just said in his head. "Weren't you born in an organization that wanted to colonize other planets? Why would other groups having spaceflight technology be that far off?" From his peripheral vision, he could see Julian's head tilt in bewilderment.

Arcade just shook his head. "Those plans weren't really that viable at all to begin with."

It was Cass' turn to share her thoughts on the matter. She put both her hands in a clasp and used it to conceal her nose—her thumbs supporting her chin. "I asked some of the people at that settlement and, apparently, those UNSC folk were asking them questions if the planet we were on was Earth or not," the redhead then exhaled forcefully, "I'm gonna have to pass on this one. Extraterrestrial men from outer space? Sounds like the same kind of bullshit my drinking buddy says when he's had too much to drink at the Gomorrah." She then turned around to face Arcade. "Doc makes a few good points too."

Tobias then rested one of his arms' elbows on his leg, with his head in turn resting on the palm of the same arm. "It still doesn't explain why they asked those questions though." He pondered for a while, "From the settler's testimonies, they seemed to be pretty confused as to why everything—" he cut off his own thought to gesture all around him, "is like this."

Arcade and Cass conceded and agreed that those were indeed strange remarks for them to make. Cass then started to pull out a bottle of whiskey from one of her pockets, "Well, I guess we just need to figure out some things."

It was at this moment that the three realized that they've been neglecting to give some attention to Julian. "Any thoughts, brownie?" Whiskey Rose said as she displayed to Julian why she held the moniker.

Julian gave an unsure "uhh" before responding, "I think this UNSC may actually do exist—with all the things they supposedly claim they are." Arcade rolled his eyes at his comment, and Julian quickly retracted that sentiment, "Okay, maybe the 'United Nations' part about them may be untrue. I don't think countries like the ones from before the Great War even exist anymore."

Cass was perplexed at what Julian gauged to be true, though it was Arcade that voiced out her thoughts, "You have an easier time believing in them having spaceships than having a small group of sovereign nations band together? I mean, sure, I also don't believe in something as grand as the UN existing anymore, but it isn't too implausible to assume that other communities banded with others to form their own UN."

The courier put a hand to his temple while the other three continued to discuss their thoughts pertaining to the mysterious military group. All the talking about this "UNSC" and its potential existence gave him a headache. Nonetheless, he continued to think about it, although he refrained from being involved with the three.

He tried to mentally list down the benefits of such an organization existing.

_If they existed, they may be able to solve the problems New Vegas is facing. Maybe I should propose some sort of alliance? They were already willing to protect New Vegas citizens. If not, maybe a trade agreement? If they have the industry to make vehicles and robots, they can surely trade something for our benefit? But what will we be able to give them in return?_

Before he could continue his optimistic line of thinking, the cynic within him took over.

_This is also a gamble. If they do exist, they'll be able to stomp any opposition we can muster with impunity. We still don't know if the group that was in that settlement had standard-issue gear or not, which is bad because if their average grunt is that adequately trained and outfitted, we won't be able to put up a fight should they turn out hostile._

He sustained this train of thought.

_Plus, every advanced mysterious organization I came across in the Mojave were snobbish pricks that thought wastelanders were backwards savages. Why would they be any different? Will they treat New Vegas' citizens like trash to be discarded?_

Sweat dripped from his forehead. Although he did his best not to show the others, he was afraid for the future of New Vegas should the UNSC turn out to be a threat.

* * *

**57 kilometers west of New Vegas**

_Northwest of Blackwater Springs_

**4:43 PM – PDT**

Suspended on top of one of the sundry cliffs in the western Mojave and beneath the glare of the unsympathetic sun, the courier and his group remained inconspicuous as they observed the settlement of Blackwater Springs from their elevated viewpoint.

It was serendipitous that they stumbled on the rocky cliffs—its height made it a perfect vantage point to spy on their attentive prey below. The ample amount of rocks and boulders found there also shielded them from the vision of any onlookers—camouflaging them with the environment and thereby taking considerably less effort to hide themselves from their unsuspecting targets. The cliff they settled on was also devoid of life as the sparse vegetation and dryness made whatever animal that may linger there turn away in search of greener pastures; granting them the opportunity to not have to burden themselves with the task of having an extra set of eyes watch out for any hostile wildlife.

The courier, with his front body on the sharp, abrasive, texture of the rocky ground, pulled his travel backpack close to him as he slowly inched forward to the end of the cliff—his rifle hung behind his back.

Of course, Tobias was not alone in this endeavour for his steadfast companions and NVFA soldiers congregated with him—all performing the same careful maneuvers he did as to not be detected. Arcade and Cass were right beside him, while Julian knelt behind a rock; patiently waiting for him to issue a command. The other soldiers were either on the ground or leaning behind boulders for cover. To anyone who may have seen them, they would have wondered why someone would have put the effort to place mannequins in such a remote area—their ragtag band of adventurers were virtually indistinguishable from statues; their bated breathing being the only distinctive characteristic that made them separate from marble.

Tobias, along with a few others, then pulled out the binoculars he had from the depths of his travel pack. He put the two opening slits it had onto his eyes to examine the clueless marauders much closely.

Blackwater Springs—aptly called that because of how all water sources nearby were very irradiated—was not your epitome of a traditional settlement. It was of significant size—dwarfing Brighthope by at least threefold. There seemed to be about fifteen houses in total, with all their designs being indicative of how they were made before the bombs dropped. They also seemed to be refurbished by either the previous settlers or its new occupants, although he doubts that the raiders would care that much about the settlement to renovate it. Some of the houses' windows were boarded up and the ones he could see into were too dark to make out what was inside. There were no shanty houses in sight, which intrigued the courier.

There were fewer pens for livestock, and even then, the ones it had were empty. _Probably butchered by the raiders for meat._

In the middle of the settlement was a water pump that had buckets arranged in an orderly manner right beside it. The pump was larger than what Goodsprings had, towering over some of the houses. There was also a rusty water tower at the southwestern end, with the road leading up to it having been marked down by footprints. The roads leading outside of the town were barricaded by cars and other material; the southern entrance confirming this with how it was gated.

They evidently did not want anyone getting inside.

As Tobias continued in his scan of the area, he started to pay attention to the raiders. The raiders, for a large settlement as this one, seemed to be few, with the courier counting only about potentially fifteen of them. Some of them were sitting outside to chat while others played card games. He spotted what seemed to be beer bottles on the table they sat in and a load of chems. A few stayed inside of the buildings and he could only speculate what they were doing there.

The raiders also manned what seemed to be lookout towers. They had ramps and ladders for access and were built out of wood and scrap metal. The towers also extended to about seven meters in height. Three of them covered the northern side of the settlement with four and two standing tall in the east and south respectively. The western side did not contain any of them as the cliffs that protruded there served as natural barriers. There were also crude walls and barricades of scrap metal, tires, and wood prepared everywhere, which was likely done in anticipation of an attack.

Tobias also took note of their equipment and he realized that they were all garbed in light armour—some forgoing that concept at all and being shirtless—and the guns they used seemed to be homemade piperifles.

The courier, satisfied with what he saw, put away the binoculars into his backpack once more. He also grabbed the other equipment he stored from his backpack once he heard others do the same before setting his pack down with the others'. Extra baggage in a firefight is the difference between being shot and avoiding a bullet between your eye sockets.

Tobias, after patiently waiting for hours, was ready for a fight.

He put on his helmet and moved his gaze towards Cass, who regarded him with a look that outlined her preparedness. Tobias, not wanting to waste any more time, gave Cass a knowing nod. She immediately discerned its meaning, stood up with three other soldiers, and flitted down the cliff in an impressive display of speed—all the while zigzagging through the rocks as to not raise any possible suspicions for the lookouts should they be spotted.

Tobias remained with Arcade, Julian and the remaining five soldiers. He motioned for them to hold until Cass' group was a healthy distance away from them. Once they were far enough, he and the rest darted down the cliff with equal rapidness as the preceding group, but in a different direction. As they moved down, Tobias held a look of uncertainty. Abandoning their advantageous position in the cliff did not sit well with him, but he knew that they would get nothing done sitting around there.

Their plan's initial stages were in motion. It was simple enough on paper as almost all the information they gathered about Blackwater Springs were indeed true, apart from the number of raiders stationed there; ironically making their job of eliminating all raiders easier.

The first stage involved them separating into two groups—a large one and a small one—to account for the watch towers. Cass' smaller group would obviously storm the north as it was the least defended area that was also accessible, while his group would barge in from the east. They would instigate the firefight first and deal with the eastern and southern guards, while the other group engages the northern ones.

The latter stage involves them doing a clean sweep of the entire settlement to look for the survivors that were held captive. If the rumours they heard were factual, there should be around ten to twelve hostages, with most being women and girls. The implication about that rumour was clear.

Tobias also left instructions for the soldiers to secure whatever they find in the raiders' storage unit as reparations for those who survived the raiders' attack. Their personal belongings—items from either their lockers, footlockers, suitcases, the like—can, however, be freely looted. Such was the law of the spoils of war.

As they reached the base of the cliff they descended from, Tobias' group subsequently made efforts to make themselves discreet by hiding in amongst rocks and other objects tall enough to obscure their bodies. The courier was anxious that the guards may have spotted them dashing from rock to rock with how the crushed pebbles under their feet's soles released their cries. Although a quick peep out of his tiny, uncomfortable, hiding spot towards their general direction told him that his fears were unfounded.

He sat with his knees bent and rifle unslung, his hands holding it in a firm grip. He glanced at Arcade a few feet across from him, leaning behind another rock. He already had his plasma rifle in his arms—ready to unleash hell on the raider scum. The soldiers, including Julian, were also prepared in the same manner.

Tobias was certain the Cass and her posse was just waiting for him to give the signal. He then eyed one of the NVFA troops and gave her a nod. She pulled out her satchel to take out a tubular device that glinted under the sun's rays before attaching it onto the metal railing of her service rifle.

Although the scope can be easily recognized as a varmint rifle scope with how comically large it was for the rifle, a bit of duct tape treatment managed to stabilize it enough to not move when the trigger was pulled. After a tense moment, the soldier then gave back a nod to the courier.

It was time for the opening acts of their show.

With a deep breath, Tobias wordlessly communicated back to the soldier what must be done.

She complied.

She raised up her rifle to put the scope to her right eye. The target she had on sight was one of the lookouts who, unbeknownst to himself, was about to be greeted by his fallen brethren in Hell.

And with a pull of a trigger, a chemical reaction commenced—one that propelled a piece of lead to travel about one hundred meters in less time it takes for a person to blink.

The lump of metal, barely two inches in length and not even a quarter of an inch in diameter, still, however, managed to penetrate the head of the unknowing guardsman as it zipped through the air unopposed—first going through the soft skin of his forehead before piercing deeper until the soft sound of bone fragmenting could heard. The impact of it set him off balance; leading him to fall as his caved-in head became a fountain for a thick, dark red, liquid. It did not matter if the landing from the fall would hurt him as his body touched the wooden flooring of the tower—he was already dead before gravity even took its course.

The boom that resounded from that effortless endeavour must have been surely heard by all inhabitants of the Mojave. Within seconds, everyone in Blackwater Springs was now aware of the unwelcomed trespasses at their doorstep as the other guardsman cried intruder and pointed at their direction—the sound of his bell reverberating emphasizing the urgency behind the situation.

Concurrently, the faint noises of gunfire from what Tobias presumed to be Cass' group resounded in a euphony in chorus with the raiders' panicked shrieks.

The courier and his band did not hesitate to press this situation to their advantage.

They immediately stood up and attempted to sprint about a tenth of a kilometer. They were aware that their mad dash would make them ripe pickings for whatever lookouts remained, so they crisscrossed across the sandy floor as to avoid the oncoming lead hailstorm.

And as if the gambling gods of New Vegas bestowed upon them their fortuitous blessings, the raiders' shots missed all their marks; hitting the hard earth with a thud that created a localized dust storm. The intimidating fire did not impede their brave, although imprudent, advance. With Tobias even taking aim at one of the offenders that shot at them as they ran—his inhuman reflexes with a firearm allowing the two, leaden, arrows he loosed to impact a raider's torso. Both echoing out in two successive thumps.

An impressive display of talent that befitted his epithet of the Mojave's saviour. He did not even need to use his VATS.

The wounded raider's whimpered cries were telling of her injuries. This prompted the lookouts to take cover as to not suffer the same, ill, fate of their companion. The progressing group once again took advantage of their situation and increased the pace of their run.

Before long, the raiders, realizing that Tobias and the rest were within arm's reach of them, resumed their hailstorm of bullets to hamper their movement. Upon sensing the danger, the group immediately scattered to take cover—though not unscathed. One of the raiders' stray bullets hit one of the NVFA's soldier's legs—his left knee cap exploding in a violent manner to reveal the bone underneath. His powerless cries enforcing his helplessness.

Although one of the others tried to drag him to safe sanctuary behind one of the rocks, the raiders understood the vulnerability of the injured soldier and assailed him with more bolts of lead. This time killing him as two bullets imbedded themselves within his chest, his armor doing nothing to mitigate the damage, before a final shot cut through the soft tissue of his cheeks—leaving him on the ground to gasp for air as liters of blood escaped to coalesce into a scarlet pool around him. Realizing the futility of venturing out to save the poor soldier as he dragged his body towards them (blood outpouring from his mouth as he did so), Tobias called out for the NVFA soldier to go back to safety. The bleeding soldier becoming a source of nourishment for the wasteland's wildlife.

Arcade, in a newfound sense of determination, carelessly stood up out his haven to avenge his fallen comrade. The burst of jade super-heated gas from the tip of his plasma rifle punched through the air comparatively slower than that of a bullet's velocity, although it was more destructive as it phased through one of the stilts that acted as the tower's supports effortlessly. This subsequently led to one of the towers, with its sole inhabitant, to come crashing down to its side—the removal of one of its support beams causing a domino effect that led to the other three being uprooted.

Before they could admire their handiwork in disposing of one of the raiders, three more came out of the woodwork to take cover ahead of them behind a wall of tires and sheet metal—one of the raiders clasping a stick of dynamite in their grasp. Tobias, sensing the danger the explosive posed towards him and his men, took aim at the cylindrical bomb as the raider prepared to throw it. Not even leaving an inch as he threw it, a bullet from Tobias' rifle decided to intercept it—the kinetic impact of the slug leading to a fiery explosion that eviscerated the man's arm to its elbow joint and incapacitating his two companions with him; prompting them to move out of cover before they were enveloped by a wall of metal from the soldiers of New Vegas. This left their now crippled friend to fear his own mortality as he jetted out blood from his stump of an arm. The armless man's inordinate number of cries for help did not ease the pain that coursed through him as he hemorrhaged on the ground.

The remaining tower guardsmen, however, did not surrender even after it was revealed that they were outgunned, outnumbered, and outmatched by Tobias' group.

As they continued to force the courier's group to remain down low with their coordinated gunfire, Arcade tried to replicate his earlier success. But this time, he blindly fired from cover, leading to an apparent failure. The plasma he fired missed completely and melted the solid, concrete walls of the houses behind the raiders in a pile of disgusting, green, goo.

Tobias, in a Hail Mary move, decided to dash across the field towards the rest of his group as he emptied the last two rounds his service rifle clip contained by firing at the direction of one of the raiders—facing the same amount of success as the doctor as one of the bullets hit the side of the tower as the other becoming a property of the heavens. Luckily, the courier remained unharmed by the bullets the two raiders gifted him in return as he ran up to the same rock that sheltered Julian. He started to question why he did not welcome their initial plan of storming the settlement by night under the cover of darkness. It seemed that his compassion for the captives clouded his judgement.

As the courier, and coincidentally, the two raiders reloaded their rifles at the same time from cover, Arcade motioned for the soldiers to advance, with Tobias encouraging them to do so. The men, realizing that success and failure had only a few seconds of difference, made a break for the towers with their weapons holstered, leaving Tobias behind the shield of the rock.

The two lookouts, upon looking up at the deserted battlefield, were momentarily confused as to where they went. Although this was soon rectified with how one of the raiders fell from their elevated standpoint as their flooring dissolved—a little courtesy from Arcade. As he tasted the sandy ground, he did not even get the chance to stand up on his feet before he died in an undignified manner as a 5.56mm round became embedded on to the side of their head, which dyed the ground a deep crimson red.

It was at this moment that the last raider discerned the eventual outcome of this firefight. In a final bout of explosive, unfiltered, and unadulterated rage, the man turned towards the offenders that murdered his friends and peered down his rifle. The murderous intent leaking out of him becoming so palpable that it could practically be grasped.

Before he could do any harm, however, he was put down like an old dog anti-climatically with a single pull of a trigger by a sharpshooter that was meters away from him. He seemed to have forgotten about Tobias' existence.

Tobias and his group, apart from one soldier, then wasted no time to enter the confines of the settlement once they realized they have cleared the area from raiders; taking cover behind the corners of the houses. They went to the direction of where they heard guns cackling to reinforce Cass' location, staying alert for anymore raiders they should encounter. The sounds of pained, grief-stricken, yells and booms of thunder bellowing out silenced all other noise.

It was not long before they got to her group. They were all sequestered behind anything that may give them cover. Tobias' group remembered the adage regarding Rome and imitated them. The miniature clouds of dirt that coalesced every time a bullet landed on the ground were a grave reminder of what could happen if they become careless.

One of the NVFA soldiers, however, obstinately refused common-sense and pivoted out of a wall's corner to return fire onto his assailants, only for the seemingly devil-may-care patriot to have his dreams of being a "war" hero shattered before even pulling his trigger as a .357 Magnum round immediately lodged itself inside his right deltoid. Thankfully, the soldier had enough sense to realize what foolish endeavour that was and returned to cover, his left hand clasping his shoulder with the other free hand grasping his rifle.

Before Tobias could worry further for the man, the soldier pulled out a stimpak out of his pockets and stabbed it onto his shoulder. Within seconds, a look of relief appeared onto his face as his cells regenerated and pushed out the bloody bullet out of his arm. He then resumed what he was doing before he came out of the wall once he decided he was combat ready. The courier could only hope that the stimpak also regenerated some of his brain cells.

The raiders started to get impatient with their careful assault of their compound's intruders once they realized they started to get low on ammunition. This prompted them to advance to their position—a most foolish move as Cass pressed on this opportunity and decide to meet them.

As one of the raiders realized Cass was coming up to them, she decided to try and take advantage of her vulnerability with a quick shot. However, there was a reason why Cass won most of her timed shootouts with Tobias.

Upon appearing out of a corner, the raider was quickly met by a loud blast courtesy of the previous caravanner. Her shotgun's fierce bite proved to be as dangerous as its bark as the gauge cleanly tore off the woman's arm. The strips of skin remaining doing nothing to hold her arm in place as its chunks carelessly assaulted the ground in thumps. The second shot Cass fired was equally as unforgiving. The raider's left leg's kneecap shattered into a medley of ligaments, shrapnel, and bloody tissues. The cripple, in tears from the pain that Whiskey Rose baptized her in, groveled on the ground as she begged for a quarter and promised to repent should she be absolved of her despicable sins. Although this was short lived as the blunt, wooden, stock of Cass' caravan shotgun silenced anymore of her pleas; the force fracturing her neck and bending it at an odd angle.

The brutal murder, however, did not faze Tobias in the slightest. He and a few others also decided to capitalize on the raiders' impatience and commenced a counter-attack.

The courier sprinted towards the raiders. Stopping momentarily behind a thick, metal-wooden, barricade to protect himself from the hailstorm of bullets that were sent his way. As soon as the gunfire ceased, he popped out of his cover and fired a bullet towards one of the raiders, whose carelessness left their head vulnerable even when obscured by a metal wall.

Tobias' luck seemed to dissipate, as the raider realized he needed to move his head away moments before he pulled the trigger. The NVFA soldiers, however, changed up their tactics of playing whack-a-mole with guns and threw a grenade over the raiders' heads. This led to two raiders them fleeing from their cover and ducking to the ground as to not get caught in the shrapnel-filled explosion.

Thanks to Tobias' reflexes, he managed to quickly loose a bullet to the downed raiders. The piece of metal colliding with the raider's head and fracturing his skull within a fraction of a second. The other raider recovered. Although he did not manage to do so quickly enough before a few bullets from the soldiers hit his chest, taking the air out his lungs, and causing him to stumble backwards. However, before he could fully fall, a bullet hit the raider right between his goggles which finally executed him. The blood splatter that resulted painted a macabre painting on the wall behind the raider with parts of brain matter and other tissues. Streaks of red ran down the wall as the liquid melded with the centuries-old paint.

The final raider realized the futility of his endeavour and popped out of his hiding spot with his arms raised and gun on the floor as he pleaded for the group to spare his life. This pathetic moment was transient as he was soon melted by the green torch of Arcade's plasma rifle. It was an unspoken rule of the Mojave Wasteland to not let any raiders live.

"Anyone else?" inquired one of the NVFA soldiers. She laughed triumphantly while hoisting her rifle up in the air. Her jubilant attitude was ephemeral when Tobias noticed one of the raiders in his peripheral vision seemingly get up with bloodshot eyes reminiscent of a recent over-dosage on Jet. They seemed to have done a poor job of making sure they were all dead.

The drugged raider, bleeding from his right side, erratically raised his rifle with a murderous intent. Before Tobias could react, he was taken down by Julian with four shots, with one missing the raider completely.

Two of the shots pounded into the raider's bare torso mercilessly, while the other one tore of his left ear. His wounds guaranteed him death, as some of the bullets perforated his aorta. He immediately collapsed to the ground in pain. Though the sight of the man writhing in the ground did little to phase Tobias and the battle-hardened of the group, Tobias looked uneasy with how his face became coloured with a tinge of green.

The courier took aim at the downed raider and fired a single shot to the raider's head. He was not taking any more chances this time. Then he walked to Julian, still frozen in shock from what he just did, and patted him on the shoulders to congratulate him. He assured him that the worst was over.

One part of him hoped that Julian would soon forget about this, while the other resented himself for letting Julian take down this bloody path.

* * *

The tension died down when New Vegas' expeditionary group concluded that there were no more raiders hiding about in Blackwater Springs. Tobias took a look around to survey the damage they wrought. It was a most grotesque sight to see the settlement to be watered in red. The apertures the remaining raiders were pierce in left them bleeding profusely on the hard earth in an image that reminded the firefight's victors of your typical bathroom sponge with how the raiders became absorbed the lead they fed them. He looked back to Julian, who was ready to regurgitate his lunch, and a wave of anxiety washed over him.

He felt guilty for letting someone like him see this.

They then decided to take a minute to breathe. They reloaded their weapons, checked for any wounds they may have missed, and kept watch for anymore raiders that may arrive. Although he wanted to loot the bodies for any valuables, Tobias knew he had more pressing matters and ordered the group to search the houses for the hostages.

After an hour of searching around the settlement, they were confused as to why there seemed to be no hostages around and reconvened in the town's center to discuss it. Each person in the group had varying degrees of confusion evident on their faces.

One of the NVFA soldiers spoke up and said, "D'you think they got executed?" It was a very likely scenario. "The houses we checked only looked like raiders lived in them."

"Are we even in the right place?" asked one of the other soldiers.

Arcade, with his plasma rifle by his side and arms crossed, was the next one to talk. "We checked before. This has to be the settlement the raiders were being kept in, unless they were relocated somewhere else."

Cass then interjected. "It's very possible that they were moved. Though, the question then becomes why they were moved."

One of the soldiers sat down on a box and said, "This doesn't make sense at all. If I was a raider I'd just shoot them and get it over with." He hoisted his rifle on to his shoulder. "Food and water is hard to come by this far out of settlements or trade routes."

Before they could surmise any meaningful conclusions, a loud snap permeated in the air. Before what just had happened could register, one of the NVFA soldiers now had a hole on her temple and dropped lifelessly on to the floor. Each member in Tobias' group came to the shared conclusion and flew to cover.

Raider reinforcements were _here_. And the reason for why there were no hostages to be found made itself obvious.

_This place was meant to be a trap for them._

Tobias then noticed that there were five raiders on the nearby cliffs—all of them only meters apart from each other—and countless more coming from the same way they entered. All the ones on the ground looked to be more armored and seemed to have better weapons than crude pipe rifles. He gestured for his group to confront the nearby raiders, while he engages the one on the cliffs.

Although the cliff raiders had the advantage of high elevation and a better long-ranged rifle, Tobias was more resourceful and used the VATS to his advantage. The mini-computer made the calculations on how he should take the shot in a few seconds. He then took the advice of his Pip-Boy and fired on two raiders—both hitting them squarely on the forehead. He then took cover from their returned fire, but a stray bullet managed to graze his left arm. It, however, did not warrant a stimpak to be used.

He then came out of the cover to use his Pip-Boy's targeting system again to effortlessly kill two raiders and then eliminating the final raider without it. The two shots meant for the last raider was considerably impressive, as Tobias managed hit him directly in the chest meters away.

Tobias then assisted his group in dispatching the raiders on the ground. He ran towards a hip-tall wall and crouched between two NVFA soldiers who were in the middle of a shootout. He used the remaining five bullets of his service rifle to lend suppressive fire, as to facilitate Arcade's movement into cover. He then laid behind the small wall and reloaded his rifle. If he plays his cards correctly, all of them may be able to come out alive.

Before he could pop out of cover to return fire against the raiders, he heard a distinct noise from the cacophony of rumbling thunder: a grenade rifle being fired at his direction. The courier instinctively jumped to the ground to avoid what was coming, but the two with him seemed to lack those instincts and were soon eviscerated by the explosion.

He then got back up and ran towards a house's corner for cover. At that distance, he would be out of reach from the grenade rifle. The raiders, however, were still pressing on in large numbers. Tobias was now trying to figure out a solution, as the bullets flew by him. _There must be at least over twenty of them!_

Even though there were eight of them, they were managing considerably well in holding-off their assailants. It's been over an hour and Tobias was unsure of how long this stalemate will last when he saw one of the soldiers cry out in pain, go back to cover, and use a stimpak. Even the firefight was taking its toll on Arcade and Cass, with the former now having to rely on his plasma defender when the raiders managed to get a lucky shot off of his rifle to damage it.

Tobias took aim at one of the raiders and pulled the trigger. He was momentarily confused before it turned to anger—cursing at his gun for having to reload at such an inopportune moment and then at himself for getting so ingrained in the gunslinging that he forgot to count how many times his rifle's hammer pounded.

He then sunk back to cover—heart pounding against his rib cage—before releasing the now empty clip and then feeding it with a loaded one. Although he brought a considerable amount of ammunition, with ten clips each fitting ten 5.56mm, he seemed to be burning through all of them as each minute passed.

From his right, he saw Julian stand up to shoot, but he was soon put down with a well-placed shot at his chest that sent him to the ground. Tobias' heart dropped at the sight until he realized his armor took the brunt of the damage. His worries soon turned to relief when he saw him crouch back up and go to cover, although that relief turned into despair almost immediately when he heard a grenade rifle firing at him again. This time, however, he was too late to take cover and was sent flying a few meters over once the round hit the side of support beam of the house—collapsing it onto its side once it lost it.

The courier was dazed on the ground when one of the NVFA soldiers picked him up to get to retreat into a better position. He was unable to hear anything from right ear and could barely make out what Cass was barking to the group.

The courier quick regained his senses after a moment. He was set down behind a makeshift wall of scrap that barely provide adequate cover from the hailstorm of bullets. The courier saw Cass get shot on the shoulder, though this did not dissuade her from fighting back. Arcade was the same, as he limped on one foot after running out of stimpaks. He swore to no one once he realized that the stimpaks he was carrying may have fell out when he was sent flying by the grenade rifle. The NVFA soldiers, including even Julian, were fighting with the same ferocity as the first two. The remaining five soldiers were willing to give up their lives for his cause and this is how he repays them.

Tobias stands up and goes to the edge of the sheet wall with his rifle ready. The chances of his group surviving the engagement was infinitesimally small. He was prepared to die with his friends and comrades.

He was ready to accept his death—the Mojave's Messiah. Only this time there would be no Doc Mitchell to patch him up. He only prayed that his friends were equally as accepting as him.

The courier took a deep breath, but before Tobias can get out of cover, he heard a rumbling noise coming from the direction of the raiders. Although the sound was drowned out by the gunfire, its sound was distinctive in how it reminded the courier of one of those pre-war engines that Raul showed him once when he fixed a motorcycle.

Before he could ponder more on what he was hearing, something burst out of the barricades on the raiders' side; slamming onto a few of them and running them over in gruesome sight. The echoes of gunfire became silent with the arrival of the new, unknown variable that had come into play.

Tobias edged out of his cover and got a good look on what came out. His eyes widened in fascination when he saw what arrived.

It looked to be an old pre-war car. It was not like the ones he saw in the wasteland nor was it like the ones he saw in those antiquated magazines. This car was larger and more intimidating.

It was painted in some sort of green paint that was unlike the old pre-war military vehicles, only that it seemed more metallic in colour, and it seemed to lack any doors or any other thing similar to one. The wheels on it looked blacker than the Mojave's asphalt, its windshield was cleaner than the windows of the Lucky 38's penthouse, and perhaps its most prominent feature was the menacing chaingun mounted behind it.

That mounted gun was then put into good use when it spun and shot at the raiders at high speeds. The way it spit out the bullets were like that of a vertibird taking off. The raiders could not have avoided the wall of lead the gun set up nor could they defend against it as it seemed to have torn through inches of concrete. Each shot from the vehicle seemed to tear off a limb and leave every raider mangled on the ground. The vehicle stopped its barrage once it cleared out almost all the raiders, with the remaining few in hard-to-reach corners dying from what Tobias surmised to be a sniper rifle, as they all found their head blown completely off with parts of brain matter scattering in all directions.

The courier was so fascinated by the sheer firepower displayed that he forgot about the occupants manning the vehicle. _They're in black armour…_

He also seemed to forget that he was clearly visible to them, but he was reminded of this fact when the occupant manning the turret pointed the gun at him. Quickly thinking, he looked towards his group, dropped his rifle, and urged the others in his group to do the same before raising his hands in sign of surrender. They followed his lead without reluctance. They knew they were clearly outmatched in an engagement.

The driver of the vehicle and the one on the passenger seat got out and approached them without any trepidation. They were covered head to toe in blackish grey armour with dashes of yellow and had a helmet that hid their faces under a black visor. Their armour was different from power armour in that it was sleeker and more mobile, but it looked like it could take same amount of punishment as one—maybe even more.

Even from afar, the weapons of the mysterious men looked better and made what the Gun Runners made look like children's toys. They seemed to be more intricate and complex than any common, conventional weapon Tobias encountered in his time in the wasteland. Those very same guns remained trained on them as the armoured men approached, their fingers ready to let loose bullets in a moment's notice.

Their approaches then simultaneously stopped once they were about ten meters away. Both men were almost like statues with how unmoving they were as they watched him and his group. Their faceless visage added onto the predatory aura they emanated. They were able to complete something they struggled on for a few hours within a few minutes.

A moment of dull silence passed. Time seemed to slow down for Tobias, as each second he stood there began to feel like an entire day. There was no doubt in Tobias' mind, or any one else's in his group, that these men were military.

The tension in the air was then broken when one of the men spoke up in what seemed to be a loud-speaker.

"State your identities and reasons for being here."

The battered saviour of the Mojave was finally able to let go of the breath he did not know he held.

_Soon, the Mojave Wasteland will know the true extent of the sun's rays destructive power._

* * *

_Author's Note:_

I haven't been able to properly update this story because I mostly forgot about it. Also, please report any errors you find in this chapter, as I haven't found the time to proofread it.

Feedback is always appreciated. The feedback I'm looking for is mostly about the scenes and anything you'd think that would improve this story. Also, I'm open to suggestions on what pronouns I should use. It's getting repetitive using "courier" or "president" when talking about Tobias Pratt.


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